Worth It
by Inari Kasugawa
Summary: To elegentmess, who wrote me a romantic poem which France-nii helped with. Toris realizes just what his happiness is, and he dosn't want to leave until Alfred knows it. Lithuania's outsourcing. Second person. If you don't like mansex, don't read.


**Worth It**

In your eyes, he is a savior. Not Jesus Christ, but you know that he has pulled you from the flames… or in your case, the ice. In your eyes, he is perfect. Not without his faults, of course, but everything his does, you feel, is good and wonderful.

You wait anxiously for him to come home. You try to keep yourself busy around the house, cleaning, doing the laundry, dusting. All chores that before had been tiresome and perhaps dangerous when you were living with that other man, now you do for this man whose face lights up to see a clean house, a ready meal, someone there, waiting for his return. And it makes every second you spent ironing his shirts worth it to hear him say it.

"Toris, you're so wonderful, I love you!"

And the way he says it is so carefree and so light, that you know he means it. You do not say it back, but the way he says it is nothing like you had come to expect and it makes every afternoon of sorting his books and papers worth it.

All of you wonders though. To be with another man… before you had not thought of this. Feliks, your best friend, loud and bossy, had never truly brought out this feeling that sits warm in your chest. That man, Ivan, had done such terrible things to your body, to hurt you, to satisfy himself. This warm feeling you now carry through your day had been a ball of ice used to numb your pain. Alfred… He is so alive, all of the time.

Some days he brings home high-quality meat for dinner. These nights are good. He smiles, you smile, and he speaks ceaselessly of great things. Strong production, the success of the dollar.

Some days though, he brings home ground meat, lower-quality things. You say nothing at these times. He looks so tired, and he works so hard to keep a smile on his face. You can see through it though, and it worries you that he is working so hard all of the time. You ask him to take it easy. The smile on his face wavers and you wonder for a moment if you haven't said the wrong thing, if you have spent all of this time with him and have been wrong. But soft words come from his mouth. Kind words of hope and dreams. You breath a relieved sigh. You see that even though he is tired, that bright gleam is still in his eye. He has not given up, and nether will you.

The days trade off like that. Good days, bad days, and still you work tirelessly because he has given you such a good home, he treats you with such kindness that the more solemn evenings rend your heart.

Those nights become more and more frequent, you notice. The days that he is able to bring in better things are, he confesses, only after he has been saving up a few days. The evenings where you have make due with less suddenly make since.

One Sunday he takes you for a walk. You feel the chill in the air, and realize that this is the first time in a long while that you have taken notice of cold. You walk a little closer to him. He puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you nearer. He is quiet as the fall creeps into your bones.

You know that your time with him is coming to an end. You know that it is getting to be too much for him to take care of you. But you still feel as though you could have done more.

That night you go to him. He is sitting up in his bed, reading and in his night clothes. He greets you, asks you if there is anything you need, smiles at you. He asks you what's wrong when he notices your eyes shining with unshed tears and you are surprised with yourself. He motions for you to sit next to him on the bed, but you take it one step further.

You kiss him. Hesitantly, haltingly. A soft peck on the lips and you move to pull back but his arms (his warm, strong arms) are about you, pulling you in, pulling you over, then under, and suddenly you know what that warmth in your chest has been this whole time. You love him. You love him more than anything and now, just as you are realizing it, you are going to have to leave him.

Your hands pull away his shirt as his unbutton yours. His lips are soft on your skin and oh so warm. His hands leave a lingering feeling as he traces down your stomach and to the hem of your pants. He looks up and his eyes meet yours. You nod and he leans up to kiss you. It is deeper than last time and you love what he's doing. His tongue brushes your lips and you meet his with your own.

If he is surprised he does not show it, and instead presses himself closer to you, lifting your hips to remove your pants. You blush, you don't wear anything else underneath. You lie on the bed, totally exposed to the other man. His hands brush lower, and lower. When he takes hold of you, you gasp. You grasp the sheets tightly as his hand moves. He kisses your neck, your chest. You call for him to stop and he looks up at you, worried. He asks if he has done something wrong. You stutter when you comment about what is left of his clothing and he smiles that wonderful smile at you.

He removes his pants and as he leans back over you, you remove his glasses and place them on the night table. His mouth travels down your chest and stomach. He reaches your arousal and takes it in his mouth. Your back arches and your toes curl. For you this pleasure seemed impossible. You moan and mumble and every audible word out of your lips reflects your love for him. You cry out a little as he presses a finger into you. Because it is him, you overlook the discomfort. Because it is him, you beg for more.

The stretching is uncomfortable, but not unwelcome. You stop yourself before thinking back to the other times in that other place with that other man. You did not love him. This man is taking care of you, now whispering sweetly to you. His face carries worry but you smile up at him. You tell him that it is okay, that you want him. That you love him. And that is enough. He presses himself deep within you. A moan breaks from deep within his throat. You thrust back onto him and hiss, the pain only barely there. His lips meet yours again, still gentle, still so full of love.

You tell him to move, and he dose; slowly at first, but the rocking of his hips picks up. You gasp and moan. You hadn't known that being with someone could feel so good. His thrusts become deeper, rougher, and you cannot control your voice, you do not want to. You want more. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. You wrap your legs around his hips and bring him deeper. The words he whispers into you ear are beautiful and you know that nothing will sound so good again.

His hand wraps around your arousal again, stroking it in time to his thrusts. You have to gasp for breath. You feel yourself coming so close. You can't get enough. Enough air, enough him, enough time. You feel yourself release and for a moment your vision goes white. You kiss him hard and feel him fill you with his own seed.

You linger like this for a moment, he still buried within you, you with your arms around him. When he does pull himself from you, the two of you lie facing each other. He presses his face into your chest, whispering "sorry" and "I love you" over and over.

You hold him closer, saying the same things.

**Fuuuuuck… It is late. But I wanted to get this done before Monday, cause that is totally like, where the buck stops… Anyway, I finally pulled myself away from The Sims 3 long enough to do this. It took me, what? Nearly two days to decide how to write this, and then I just typed it in a few hours on Sunday. I really hope this is alright… Grrr, Second person… what the hell was I thinking? I am never writing a story this long in second person ever again…**

**Folks. Read. And. Review. **


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